


Imagine Me & You

by Jax (jacquienicole105)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Imagine Me & You Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Endgame Clarke Griffin/Lexa, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Inspired by Imagine Me & You (2005), Love, Minor Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-10-11 05:27:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17440820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacquienicole105/pseuds/Jax
Summary: Based on the movie with the same name.During her wedding ceremony, Clarke notices Lexa in the audience and feels instantly drawn to her. The two women become close friends, and when Clarke learns that Lexa is a lesbian, she realizes that despite her stable and happy marriage to Bellamy, she is falling for Lexa. As she questions her marriage and the concept of love, Clarke must decide between her stable relationship with Bellamy and her exhilarating, new romance with Lexa.





	1. Imagine Forever

**Author's Note:**

> So I am sure this has been done before, but I couldn't get it out of my head! I've changed a few things in order to assimilate the story into DC in 2019, as well as adapted it so that our other favorite The 100 characters are involved. If anyone has suggestions or comments, I would love to hear them. 
> 
> I've also made a Pinterest account for personal visual inspiration but I thought I'd share it: https://pin.it/5ywu3qaijmvj2m
> 
> Anyways, I hope y'all like it!
> 
> And P.S. if you read my other story, The Imposters, I'm not dropping it. This is just an easier write so I'll be bouncing back and forth!

**_Saturday, April 27th, 2019_ **

_Tick, tick, tick._

The clock moved at a glacial pace as Clarke sat and waited for the alarm to blare. She was too excited to necessitate an alarm. Not nervous, just ready.

Ready because today was the day she’d marry her best friend. A funny, charming, endearingly sweet guy. His name was Bellamy.

_Three. Two. One._

She turned off the alarm and fell onto the bed with a content huff.

She couldn’t help the smile that took over her face. Everything about today was perfect.

_The groom._ The best possible guy, she had been friends with Bellamy since they were kids. Ever since she fell off the monkey bars and everyone laughed except for Bellamy, who ran to make sure she was okay. They went through childhood together, then college, then life. They knew each other intrinsically; they were partners in crime and everything else.

_The venue._ Her mother had found the perfect location, something to do with her connections at the hospital. A beautiful manor called the Tudor House settled in historic Georgetown, it had all of the colonial grandeur and historical reverence that Bellamy craved and the gardens that Clarke desired. That was all Clarke pictured when she thought of her wedding growing up: a garden with the most beautiful flowers surrounding her.

_The dress._ It was her dream dress. Off the shoulder, with sheer, embroidered long sleeves, a trumpet silhouette and floral appliqué, it was reminiscent of cherry blossoms falling in the spring.

And everything else? The photographer, the caterer, the guest list, the florist. Well, she let her mother handle that. Because to some extent, this was her mother’s dream more than hers. She always knew she wanted to get married, but she would have been happy eloping to an island with her closest friends and family as witnesses, surrounded by nature and all of its beauty.

But the manor? The crowd? It was for her mother. And Bellamy. He always wanted a big wedding.

_It will be the proudest moment of my life,_ he had once said to her, his eyes holding that charming sparkle that was so very him, _and I want the world to know. Hell, I want to scream it from the rooftops because you are the best damn thing to ever happen to me._

She remembers how he caressed her cheek and smiled that wily smile of his and how she smiled too and held him close. And she remembers wishing more than anything that her heart would beat erratically and that the butterflies would flutter in her stomach like they used to.

She remembers how loving Bellamy started to feel like muscle memory before coming to the conclusion that maybe that was what love was: it was practiced and nuanced and easy. Like knowing the sun with always rise after it has set or settling in for the night with a warm cup of tea.

By the time she heard knocking on the door, she had just gotten out of the shower. She pulled her robe around her a little tighter and took a calming breath, mentally preparing herself for the chaos that was about to invade the space.

And when Clarke opened the door, there stood her two best friends staring back at her, shit-eating grins plastered on their faces. They all stood there for a moment before simultaneously screaming and rushing into the room.

It was perhaps the most stereotypically feminine thing they had ever done but, in their defense, this was a day they had been anticipating since they were children.

Raven and Octavia. Her comrades-in-arms, her business partners, her lifelines. The Ron and Hermione to her Harry. The Ed and Edd to her Eddy, so to say. They were always there for one another and aside from the nuclear blowout of 2010 when it came to light that Raven’s cheating, son-of-a-bitch boyfriend was the best friend of Octavia’s brother _and_ Clarke’s boyfriend, the three had never fought over anything more serious than stolen shoes.

People were always surprised that the three of them got along as well as they did. They were all “dominating” personalities, though they would jump down someone’s throat if it was said by anyone besides them.

Even more surprising still was when they decided to go into business together after college, opening a multi-platform media company that covered everything from politics and technology to art and fashion. Their vision was to provide women with a guide to navigate being a woman in the modern world and all of the complications that entailed. And since opening in 2012, they had amassed 5 million followers worldwide and opened offices in L.A. and London. It was easy— well, as easy as it could be— because they had done it together.

As a result, getting ready for the biggest day of her life became as mundane as getting ready for a night out with her girls. Raven started on Clarke’s hair and talked about some guy she'd been sleeping with— creatively named "Wick, the Prick" for obvious reasons— while Octavia did Clarke’s makeup with the focus of a Jedi warrior.

Clarke was putting on the dress with Octavia’s help when she heard the door open and Raven exclaim, “Mr. and Mrs. G! And Aden, hey little man. Come on in, Clarke is just putting on her dress.”

“Clarke, darling,” her mother, Abby, started, “can you tell your father he can’t wear that suit?”

Clarke resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Abby was a surgeon, as particular about her husband’s actions as she was about each stitch she sewed into a person. And her father, Jake, was an engineer who was never checked in at 100%, mentally fiddling with this and that. Though Clarke couldn’t help but think it had become a defense mechanism against his pestering wife.

Clarke loved her parents and she knew deep down they loved each other as well, but listening to their one-sided squabbling was more irritating than listening to a straight-up screaming match.

“He looks nice,” Clarke said distractedly, as she analyzed herself in the mirror. Raven and Octavia really had outdone themselves. Her makeup was natural and accentuated her features and her hair was in a simple low bun with tendrils framing her face, allowing her mother’s “something borrowed” embroidered veil to take the spotlight. She realized quickly that her mother would counteract her statement as she hadn’t actually seen her father yet and popped around the door, directing her eyes to her father with a smile, “You look nice.”

“Thank you, poppet,” Jake said with his endearing British accent and a grateful smile as she popped back into the bedroom.

Octavia shot her a look in the mirror, warning her to stay still, as she heard her mother mumble in the living space, “I’ve seen better-dressed crabs.”

At that Clarke did roll her eyes, holding onto the fact that in twelve hours she would be safely back at home.

“I have a question,” Aden piped in, as inquisitive as ever. He was 20 years younger than her and an accident. But being the child of two people who had already been through raising a child and were frankly, well, over it, he sought to assert his presence with curiosity and a never-ending myriad of trivia-like questions.

“Oh, God. Will someone please put a gag on my son?” Abby asked the universe.

“Why is the alphabet in that order?” Aden persisted and Octavia gave her a nod telling Clarke she was done buttoning the back of the dress.

“Nobody knows, nobody cares. So, for once in your little life, would you just…”

Clarke came around the corner, a nervous smile on her face. For whatever reason, even at 29 she still sought her mother’s approval. “How do I look?”

Everyone had a mixture of shock, awe, and adoration on their faces, exactly the reaction she was hoping for.

A “damn, babe,” from Raven, a “holy, wow,” from her father, and an “Oh, darling,” from her mother had her beaming.

“You look like a meringue,” Aden said in his most Aden way.

She gave her little brother a conspiratorial grin.

“Good.”

* * *

 They were in two separate cars on the ride over to the venue: Octavia, Aden, and Abby in one and Clarke, Raven and her father in the other.

And Clarke felt calm, as if this were just another day riding to work.

“So Jake, how long have you an Abby been married?” Raven asked though she knew the answer. She never was one to let it be quiet for long.  

“Thirty years,” Jake said with a sigh before mumbling, “If I'd killed her when I first thought about it, I'd be out by now. A free man. I remember all the way to the church I just wanted to shout… ‘Stop the car! This is a horrible mistake.’ But you can't, can you? So, you just sit there, say nothing… as the wheels keep turning, leading you on to the longest sentence…”

For just a moment, Clarke felt a wave of anxiety roll over her.

“Stop the car,” Clarke exclaimed without thinking, but quickly gathered herself. There were the butterflies she knew she should feel. She smiled at Raven, whose face read a mixture of shock and fear. “I forgot to pee.”

* * *

 “There you guys are!” Octavia whisper-yelled as they made their way into the building. Clarke could see everyone was already outside and in their seats, and she couldn’t help but notice what an amazing job her mother had done. The entire garden area was decorated in soft colors, flowers and lights almost glowing in the slowing descending light.

Her best friend from childhood, Wells, made his way over to her. He lived in London now, working as a human rights lawyer, but had come home just for her wedding.

“Clarke, you look beautiful,” he said, his wide smile overtaking his face as he swooped her into a hug.

“Hey, not the hair Wellsie,” Raven warned.

“Simmer down, Raven. It is a wedding after all,” Finn said with his usual blase nonchalance, entering from the side door.

“Finn,” Raven replied coolly, “I see you're as apathetic as ever.”

“And I see you're as dramatic as ever,” Finn countered.

“Guys,” Octavia warned with a pointed look before returning her gaze to Clarke with a warm smile, “Clarke, the florist left your bouquet over there.”

Clarke made her way over to the small table, ignoring the continued bickering. Her bouquet— a beautiful combination of peonies, lilac, and calla lillies—was propped in a vase with a small note in precise penmanship that read, _For the bride. You’ve got this. -L_

Clarke couldn’t help the smile that came across her face at the gesture as she brought the bouquet to her face.

“Clarke, my dear,” her father said, a gentle smile on his face, “Are you ready?”

Was she ready? She looked back down at the note. _You’ve got this._

She smiled back up at her father. “Of course, let’s do this.” 

* * *

The music started and she could see everyone standing over her friends’ heads as they began their slow descent down the aisle. The afternoon sun was streaming through the trees and petals were falling in the breeze, making it look like a dream.

_Breathtaking._

Suddenly it was their turn and Clarke took her father’s arm as they made their way down the steps.

With each step, she took a breath and she locked eyes with Bellamy. He looked handsome and debonair in his classic three-piece suit but what really caught her attention was the adoration that radiated from his eyes.

How had she done it? How had she found a man who looked at her like that?

A movement to her left caught her eye and she chanced a glance over.

And suddenly, all she saw green. It felt like coming home. Like she had been on a voyage through space and she was suddenly on the ground again, surrounded by the most lush greenery. Indescribably familiar yet somehow alien. The shock of it all almost had her reeling.

She faced forward again. She had too.

She glanced back one last time but the woman— the mysterious beauty with eyes as green as a rain forest— was nowhere to be found.

And as she took another step towards the altar, towards her future, she had never been less sure of anything in her life.

 


	2. Imagine a Glance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa's POV, the day of the wedding.

**_Saturday, April 27th, 2019_ **

“I want something that says ‘I'm sorry he's dead… but not that sorry. He was just a dog and you shouldn't have loved him more than me.’ Can you do me a bunch that says that?”

Lexa had become accustomed to these types of outlandish requests. Since opening the store four years ago, her shop had become somewhat notorious in the Georgetown area for providing bouquets with specific meanings. And she had become something of a pseudo-therapist, providing an outlet to those who didn’t know how to express their feelings.

“How about purple hyacinth, asphodel and lily-of-the-valley? The hyacinth and asphodel mean mourning of a loss while lily-of-the-valley means looking forward,” Lexa suggested.

“There’s nothing that says, ‘you’re dog ate all of my shoes and I’m glad he finally choked on one of their laces?’” she persisted.

Lexa looked up and saw Anya staring at her, gesturing to her watch through the interior window divider. Anya was her best friend and business partner and they owned the place together. She handled the day-to-day running of the adjoining coffee shop while Lexa dealt with the floral and event side of things. Lexa nodded slightly and turned back to the woman, her most sympathetic smile plastered onto her face.

“Unfortunately, no. Can I get you anything else?”

* * *

 “You’re late,” Anya patronized, leaning in the doorway of the shop with her arms crossed.

“You’re not helping,” Lexa countered as she lifted another box into the van.

“Hey, equal division of labor remember?” Anya replied with a shrug. “What’s the job?”

“Wedding,” Lexa replied with a grunt.

“Damn, you always pull.”

“One of us has to,” Lexa taunted with a smirk.

Anya rolled her eyes, “Nice couple?”

“Haven’t met them.”

“All about the mother, then,” Anya said knowingly.

“Isn’t it always?” Lexa responded with a shrug, picking up another crate.

“Come out with me afterwards,” Anya called from the other side of the car.

“Sure,” Lexa replied with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

Anya perked at that, “You will?”

“Absolutely,” Lexa said, hiding her face as she grabbed the last box. She was a terrible liar, or so she’d been told.  _It’s all in your eyes, little Lex,_ Anya had once taunted,  _you need to keep the feeling out of your eyes._ She never really understood what that meant so she tried her best to keep them hidden altogether instead.

“Oh, cool. Well, we’ll go together,” Anya stated before shouting back into the shop, “Tris, can I get a black coffee to go?”

“I’ll meet you there,” Lexa lied, lifting the final crate into the trunk and slamming the door.

When she rounded the car again, Anya was standing there with a cocked brow and a coffee in hand. “You’re not coming.”

“My favorite advert’s on TV,” Lexa blanched, all ruse of excitement gone from her voice.

“You need a love life,” Anya pointed out, handing Lexa the coffee.

“I have a ‘like’ life, It suits me fine.” Lexa replied, getting in the driver’s seat and slamming the door before the argument could continue.

She was happy, she was  _fine._ Besides, she’d already had the great love of her life. And lost it. There was no sense getting greedy and looking for another.

* * *

 Lexa spotted a small group of people and a tall man with dark curls pushed back with gel.

“... No, I feel good actually, bizarrely good.” the man said, and she made the connection that he must be the groom, Bellamy. He was handsome by most standards, all dark features and playful freckles spattered across his nose and cheekbones. “Yeah, yeah, no nerves whatsoever. None whatsoever, thanks.”

Well, it was good to know that there were worse liars out there than her. She made her way over to him and placed a hand on his arm.

“Hi,” Lexa started when he turned towards her.

“Hi,” Bellamy replied, the confusion evident in his eyes.

“Your Bellamy, right? The groom?”

“Yeah, yeah, I am. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Call me Bell,” he responded, his nervousness apparent.

“Well, I did your flowers,” she replied with a small smile, hoping it might calm him down.

“Oh, did you? Oh, well, they're great. Aren't they, Finn?” he asked, turning to his friend, who was ogling more than looking at Lexa.

“Hmm? Great, yeah. Although, I wouldn't know a nice flower from a poke in the eye,” Finn said.

“But they’re  _great_ , aren’t they, Finn?” Bellamy insisted, trying to give his friend a leg to stand on.

_What an interesting dynamic,_ Lexa couldn’t help but think. That even on his wedding day, this man was still trying to help his friend.

“Sure, sure. Great,” Finn said with a wink.

Lexa quirked a brow, but let it slide. It was a wedding, after all. “Well, these are for you,” Lexa continued, handing them each a boutonniere comprised of a single, white calla lily— the bride’s favorite, or so she was told— and a sprig of lilac, a perfect compliment to the light purple of the bridesmaid dresses as well as the bride’s bouquet.  

Suddenly, a black and white blur blew past her screaming “Bellamyyyy!” before colliding with said man. It was a boy, no more than ten or eleven, with a head of dirty blonde hair and eyes glistening with mischief.

“Hey, kid. How’s it hanging?” Bellamy asked before engaging in a private handshake with the boy.

A petite brunette came through next to give Bellamy a hug. “Hi, big brother. You look dapper. Mrs. G is driving me crazy. One more mention of her future grandchildren and I was going to throw myself out of the car, I swear. Oh, do you need help with that?” she said in a breath, gesturing to the boutonniere. She spoke quickly, as if she couldn’t get her words out fast enough, and had the nervous energy of someone who always liked to be moving.

“Thanks, O,” Bellamy replied. Even with his sister’s excited temperament, he seemed calmer now with his sister present. “Hi Abby, you all right?”

The mother of the groom, a.k.a. Lexa’s worst nightmare, strutted up with all of the intention of a general.

“Fine, Bellamy. Just making sure we are set. The other car had to make a stop but they should be here soon,” Abby said, perusing the area. She seemed to see Lexa but didn’t really register who she was.

Lexa was at a loss, she’d never been surrounded by such strong, conflicting personalities. And they somehow all seemed to get along.

“Would you…?” Finn asked, gesturing to the flowers in his hand and bringing her back to the present.

“Sure,” Lexa obliged with a shake of her head.

“I do work out, yes,” he said, flexing under his coat. “Don’t have a six pack.”

Lexa stifled a laugh. “No?”

“No, 12-pack on this puppy.”

“I don’t really like men with muscles,” Lexa said quietly, pushing the pin through.

“The bonus is though,” Finn continued quickly, “I’m very… I’m very sensitive, too.”

“Bell, I’ve got a question,” the boy piped in.

“Not now,” Abby dismissed immediately.

Bellamy bent down to the boy’s eye line, “What’s the question, A?”

“What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?” he asked, quirking his head to the side.

Bellamy seemed to pause for a moment, either because he was confused about the origin of the question or thinking of an answer, Lexa couldn’t tell. “I haven’t got a clue, I’m afraid.”

“There you are, you see,” Abby said quickly, hoping that answer quelled the boy’s curiosity. “Now we can let him get married in peace.”

Lexa saw the disappointment on the boy’s face and before she could stop herself, she answered, “It never happens. If there's a thing that can't be stopped… it's not possible for there to be something else which can't be moved, and vice versa. They can't both exist. You see, it's a trick question… is the answer.”

The boy continued staring at her, as did the rest of the group for that matter, before a decision seemed to solidify in his mind.

“Can she sit with me?”

* * *

 “What am I doing here?” Lexa asked quietly. She was sitting on the first row with the boy, looking around to make sure no one found it too odd. She wasn’t even properly dressed for a wedding, only planning to be there for set-up and behind the scenes assistance. And her black skinny jeans and crew neck tee definitely did not fit in.

“When do fish sleep?” he asked, completely ignoring her question.

She sighed, more out of acceptance than irritation. This boy and his outlandish questions were growing on her. “When it is dark, generally. But they stay alert enough to be aware of their surroundings. What’s your name, anyways?”

“Aden, but my friends call me A,” he answered before glancing towards the altar. “Doesn’t Bell look handsome?”

She looked up towards the altar where Bellamy and Finn stood. They were looking over at her periodically and she had a feeling they weren’t talking about Aden. She was tempted to tell them that he wasn’t her type, and for reasons more than his 12-pack, but she was having a bit of fun messing with him.

She saw Finn glance towards the house and start moving in that direction. When the music started, it confirmed her suspicions that the ceremony was starting.

“Okay, you’re sorted,” Lexa said to both Aden and his mother, “I’m gonna set up the reception.”

She was about halfway up the side of the aisle when she saw the bride passing between two rows of people.

Suddenly, sky blue overtook her vision and a feeling of familiarity washed over her.

A feeling that said,  _I know you. I have always known you and I am sure I will know you for the rest of time. I am yours and you are mine._

Then suddenly, those blue eyes were facing forward again and the sense of home began to dissipate. Lexa knew what that was, she’d felt it before, but she continued walking. She shook her head, trying to erase the feeling before heading towards the reception tents.

* * *

 Lexa really did love weddings.

Not the stressed-out brides or their overbearing moms. Not the over-planning or the needy guests or the drunk bridesmaids.

But the feeling of it. The fact that, at the end of the day, two people came together to tell the world that they loved each other and that they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together.

It was a romantic notion, Lexa knew. But there was something undeniably beautiful in the faith and courage necessary to make that commitment.

And as she wandered on the outskirts of the reception— watching Bellamy and Aden do some combination of the electric slide and the cupid shuffle,  the bridesmaids doing shots and laughing outrageously in the corner, and the old couple slow-dancing to a fast-paced song— she couldn’t help her smile at the joy of it all.

She even marveled at her own handiwork in the space. The centerpieces on the tables mimicked the bride’s bouquet, with lilac tones pulling the theme together. The real showstopper, though, was the entrance into the tent— an archway with lavender hanging down, as if entering another world.

Her eyes continued to scan the room when they saw a familiar face standing off to the side of the dance floor.

“Lincoln?”

The taller man turned, his eyes sparking with familiarity and shock, “Lexa?”

They made their ways around to dance floor to meet on the far side before simultaneously saying, “What are you doing here?”

They paused before letting small smiles crack through their facades.

“You first, Commander,” Lincoln said with a smirk as he used her old title. Lincoln served under her when they were SEALs— along with Anya— but had done another tour after she’d retired.

She rolled her eyes but continued, “I’m the florist. Anya and I started the shop we always talked about with Cos… anyways, we’ve had it open for about four years now here in Georgetown and it’s been doing well.”

“I heard about Costia, I’m sorry,” Lincoln consoled, sincerity evident in his tone and eyes.

“It was a long time ago,” she brushed off, unprepared to talk about it— especially at a wedding— before asking, “But what about you? Last I heard, you were still over there fighting the good fight.”

“I retired last year. Ten years of service, it’s hard to believe,” he reminisced. Lexa remembered how Lincoln hated war— with all of its death and fighting— but how he loved saving people and helping them in any way he could. “I work in organized crime at the FBI now.”

“And you’re here because…?”

“I’m dating one of the bridesmaids,” he said almost proudly. Lincoln looked around momentarily before his eyes lit up and his face softened before directing her gaze to the corner, “There, her name is Octavia.”

She looked over to where Octavia was standing with her brother and a woman that looked like an older version of her, likely her mom. She was ranting about something or other, but when she caught Lincoln’s stare, her gaze softened.

And then Lincoln— with his calm voice and serious face and telling eyes— softened and said with more conviction than she’d ever heard, “I’m going to marry that girl someday. I knew it the day I met her.”

Lexa felt a twinge in her chest. She’d said that once,  _felt_ that once.

“I’m gonna grab something to drink,” Lexa said, excusing herself, “Come stop by the shop at some point, I’m sure Anya would love to see you.”

She could tell by Lincoln’s face that he wanted to say more— apologize, console— but he knew when to be silent rather speak, a quality she’d always loved about him. He simply nodded and made his way over to Octavia, shaking hands with her brother and hugging her mother before settling beside the woman he loved.

Lexa made her way over to the refreshments table when she saw the bride in front of the punch bowl. In all honesty, she’d been avoiding her. Or, more accurately, she’d been avoiding the feeling that came over her when she glanced into those cerulean eyes.

And the temptation that came with it. It was overwhelming and tantalizing and painful and foreboding. She’d felt it before and she knew the damage it could do to those it touched.

But Lexa did what she did with most hurdles in her life and faced it head-on. She walked up behind the blonde and said:

“Hi.”

The blonde whipped around and suddenly all Lexa could think was,  _oh crap._

Now that she was closer, she could see the woman’s features more clearly. Eyes, blue like the lake she fished at with her uncle as a child. Hair, a cool gold like the sands of Afghanistan that simultaneously haunted and mesmerized her. A strong jaw, set in its ways. A dimpled chin, bringing youth to her face. And a smile that grew the more she stared.

It was as if she had spent her life in a solar eclipse and suddenly it was light again; she didn’t know how superbly bright the world could be until now.  

“Hi,” the blonde replied, a look of confusion resting on her face. Her voice was deeper than Lexa imagined— huskier— and its bass sent a quiver through Lexa’s spine.

“We haven’t met,” Lexa said, clearing her throat, “I’m Lexa.”

“Clarke,” the blonde replied with a gentle smile.

_Clarke._ Strong, definitive. Just like Lexa assumed she’d be.

Lexa didn’t know what to say. She wanted to know everything about her— where she was from, what her favorite book was, how she took her coffee— but she knew how inappropriate that would be.

Instead, with a small smile, she said, “I did your flowers.”

“You did?” Clarke asked, a look of awe and respect passing over her eyes. “My flowers are nice. Did you set up the petals in the trees, too?”

“I did,” Lexa answered, hoping she didn’t sound boastful.

“Well, it was perfect,” Clarke praised.

She felt a blush creeping up her neck. “Thanks.”

They continued staring at each other for another moment and all Lexa could think was to say something, which wasn’t exactly helping her come up with something to say.

“Anyways, I was just gonna get…” she said, beginning to move around Clarke’s wide gown before being stopped by the blonde, “a drink…”

“I wouldn’t,” the blonde said abruptly, looking like a kid stopping their parent from entering a room after they’d broken a vase.

“What, is there something wrong?” Lexa asked, her voice perhaps a little too concerned. “I’m here to help.”

Clarke paused for just a moment— analyzing Lexa, deciding whether this stranger could be trusted— before coming to a conclusion.

“My ring,” she started, before back around, “I was getting some of this punch crap and…”

Lexa stepped up to be next to her, ignoring the way her heart skipped a beat at their brushing shoulders, “Your wedding ring?”

“It fell off,” Clarke said almost conspiratorially, stirring the red liquid with the ladle, “Off and in there. My wedding ring is in there.”

“And you tried the ladle?”

“Nothing.”

“And you can’t empty… No. No, it’s too big,” Lexa paused, thinking of a solution. This was what she was good at, solving problems. “Right. Only one thing to do. Cover me.”

She began rolling up her sleeves when Clarke let out a single laugh, “What?”

“Use the dress,” she replied, as if it were obvious, and turned the bride around to act as a decoy. “I’m going in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as you can see, we'll be doing alternating POVs for this story. Try and keep an eye out for the dates, sometimes they will be experiencing the same day and other times, it will skip forward a week. I'll try to keep it from getting confusing.
> 
> Storyboard link: https://pin.it/molf5lxtbj6inf
> 
> Thanks for reading, babes!


	3. Imagine Public Speaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's POV, the day of the wedding.

**_Saturday, May 18th, 2019_ **

“Hi.”

The noise caused Clarke to jump slightly but she honestly should’ve expected someone to come over. She’d been fishing in the punch for well over a minute, after all.

She turned, an excuse on her lips for her strange behavior, when an all too familiar pair of green eyes overtook her vision. She felt a smile growing on her lips just from seeing her again; that feeling— that sense of rightness, of belonging— washed over her in all of its confusing assuredness.

“Hi,” she replied. She didn’t know what else to say, the excuse dissipating like morning mist. The woman before her was beautiful by anyone’s standards: with large eyes that Clarke could see now were both blue and green— like the ocean after a storm— and small ears that seemed almost inquisitive; curly, chestnut hair that was pulled back but implied an unruly disposition and a jawline that was simultaneously soft and hard. And lips. Lips so soft, Clarke wanted to reach out and get lost in them. 

The brunette cleared her throat and Clarke hoped her staring wasn’t obvious. “We haven’t met, I’m Lexa.”

She couldn’t help the gentle smile that took over her face.  _ Lexa. _

“Clarke,” she replied.

“I did your flowers,” Lexa explained.

“You did?” Clarke asked. She thought about it all: the colors, the entrance and archs, the beautiful bouquet with the note, and the petals flying in the wind that made her wedding look something close to a dream. “My flowers are nice. Did you set the petals up in the trees, too?”

“I did,” Lexa responded, almost meekly. 

Clarke wanted to tell her to be more proud, that she should brag about what she’d done. She realized though— knew it intrinsically, like knowing how to blink— that Lexa simply wasn’t the type. So, she said instead, “Well, it was perfect.”

“Thanks.” The tips of the brunette’s ears pinked and Clarke couldn’t understand the rush of affection she felt in response. She was about to ask about her reasoning behind the specific flowers she used when Lexa started to move around her and said, “Anyways, I was just gonna get… a drink…”

“I wouldn’t,” Clarke said. She had moved without thinking to block the other woman’s path and Lexa’s face in response was almost comical. 

“What, is there something wrong?” Lexa asked, her voice endearingly concerned. “I’m here to help.”

She paused, not because she questioned the other woman’s integrity— she knew intrinsically that she could trust the brunette with her life— but rather how she would be perceived. Would Lexa think she was frivolous or careless or untrustworthy? Somehow, the thought of that hurt more than it should.

“My ring,” Clarke replied with a sigh, turning back around, “I was getting some of this punch crap and…”

Clarke felt Lexa move to her side. “Your wedding ring?” she asked incredulously.

“It fell off,” Clarke said, hoping her light tone would lessen the brunette’s judgement, “Off and in there. My wedding ring is in there.”

Clarke looked over at Lexa and saw her smile— it was slight, like a whisper, but it was there— and her eyes glistened with curiosity as she took in the situation. 

“And you tried the ladle?” Lexa asked.

“Nothing,” she shrugged.

“And you can’t empty… No. No, it’s too big,” Lexa paused. Her eyes looked more as if she were designing battle plans before she turned to Clarke with resolution shining in her green orbs. “Right. Only one thing to do. Cover me.”

Lexa began rolling up her sleeves and Clarke let out a single very-unladylike laugh, “What?”

“Use the dress,” Lexa replied, her lips still curled at the ends as she turned Clarke around. “I’m going in.”

Clarke laughed again, she couldn’t help but to do so at the absurdity of it all. 

A movement to her right caught her eye and she stepped into the sight-lines of a man, about six inches taller than herself.

“Hi,” she greeted, nudging Lexa from behind to hurry up.

“They say white’s the color of virgins,” he started, “But if I know Bellamy, the only thing virgin around here is the olive oil.”

Clarke could feel Lexa tensing behind her but she put her best smile on anyways, “The  _ old  _ jokes really are the best, aren’t they?”

He seemed to ignore her dig. “I’m Charles Pike, Bellamy works under me, but not in the biblical sense.” 

She’d heard about Pike. He was ruthless and a liar and had no trouble being either if it made him money. He was what Bellamy referred to as a prick, something he had picked up after spending time with her dad. 

“You’re just like he described,” she replied with a tense jaw. She felt something wet grab her hand and she almost jumped out of her skin.

“Now, I need booze. I’ve just met a cracking filly…” he continued as Lexa wiggled the ring onto her finger, “and I thought I’d grease the package, so to speak.”

Lexa popped up beside her then with a brazen smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he responded, both surprised but clearly intrigued.

“This is Lexa,” Clarke introduced, “She’s a florist.”

“Name’s Charles, but you can call me anything you like,” he replied with a smirk and an outstretched hand.

Lexa took it and Clarke had to stifle a giggle at the squishing sound that was made— Lexa clearly hadn’t dried her hands off after fishing in the punch— as Pike grimaced and Lexa beamed.

“I’m sure I will.”

* * *

 

Clarke was dancing with Octavia and Raven when “Truly Madly Deeply” came on.

Before she had a chance to react, Bellamy wrapped an arm around her from behind and spun her towards him.

She let out a laugh, “You played our song.”

This song played at their middle school dance; it was the first slow song they had ever danced together, as corny as it was.

“Of course I did, it played when I first realized that I loved you,” he responded, smiling down at her.

She kissed him lightly on the corner of his mouth before laying her head on his chest, relishing in how lucky she was to find a guy like him. Bellamy was warm and kind and safe. What else did she need?

Clarke saw Lexa dancing with Finn. They were close and she could see Lexa smirking up at Finn as she rolled her eyes. A strange feeling welled up inside her, a combination of longing and disdain that clutched at her heart.

_ Jealousy? _

That was it, but why? It wasn’t of Lexa because while Finn had been in her life since college— inseparable as he was from Bellamy— they were strictly friends and the ultimate beer pong team, at best.

And it couldn’t be of Finn. She liked Lexa, she was funny and kind and dedicated, but they didn’t know each other, not really. Why should she be jealous of him?

Maybe it was the way he whispered something in her ear and she rolled her eyes before letting out a laugh. How he held her close. 

That had to be it— jealousy of those intriguing, new steps in a relationship— she reasoned. The flirting, the tension, the heart-pounding thrill of getting to know someone for the first time. She’d never even dated anyone besides Bellamy, and they went from being friends to being more than that so easily, the two steps were almost indiscernible. 

Jealousy. Of them both. Yes, that had to be it. What else could it be?

“Hello, everybody.”

Clarke turned to see her father on the platform, crouching to make his voice heard in the short microphone as the music was turned off. 

“Is this… is this thing… is this thing on?” he asked as he adjusted the stand before dropping it again.

Clarke heard more than saw her mother coming up from the back, looking for Finn to take over on the mike.

“Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking…” Jake started before her mother whisper-shouted, “What are you doing?!”

Finn came up on the side and clapped him on the back, “I’ll take it from here, Mr. G. Everybody give a round of applause for Jake, he’s the best.”

Clarke had to give it to him, he really was a charismatic guy.

“Anyways, these guys are in love… and I think that’s boring,” Finn started as he gestured to she and Bellamy and everyone let out a small laugh. “They’ve been in love for years, years! Years that have seen endless amounts of drugs consumed... and meaningless sex enjoyed... by _me_! They just stayed at home, as they do. They’ve been a married couple so many years… it’s a relief that they’re finally married.”

The crowd reacted well to his speech, “ooh”-ing and “aww”-ing and laughing at all of the right parts.

“So, before I do my duty as best man and sleep with a bridesmaid… you know who you are… I would like to raise a glass to Clarke and Bellamy. May they grow old together sharing the same pillow.”

A chorus of “Clarke and Bellamy” circled the room and Clarke turned slightly to give Bellamy a kiss.

Finn cleared his throat, “Oh, and, now, this is a very big deal. Some say the reason it’s taken him this long to get married is his fear of making just this speech, but he’s making it now! He’s not sure he can do it, I know he can do it. Please put your hands together, here’s Bellamy!”

Everyone clapped as he lead the way to the stage while holding Clarke’s hand. She felt it tense and almost felt bad, but he had insisted on the speech,  _ a symbol of how much I love you _ , or so he’d said.

Bellamy shook Finn’s hand and took the microphone, staring out into the crowd. Frozen to the spot.

“I know something that helps, Bellamy,” her mother started, “Imagine everybody naked.”

_ Oh, god. _

An image of Bellamy freezing during their public speaking class freshman year popped into her mind and before Clarke knew what she was doing, she had taken Bellamy’s free hand in one of hers, and the mike with the other.

“Hi, everyone. I’m Bell…” she started and everyone let out a small laugh, “and welcome to my wedding. So, I’m glad you’re all here looking at me because…” she looked up at Bellamy and his puppy-love stricken eyes, “‘cause I want to tell you how much I looove Clarke. And about what an amazing, wonderful, uniquely fantastic person she is.”

Everyone laughed again and she turned to Bellamy without the mike, “Do you want to keep going?”

He smiled— the closed lip smile she associated with him— and kissed her on the cheek, “No, no, I think you’re doing great.”

Clarke turned back around, “Okay, so this is me now. I’ve been looking forward to this day all my life. And I’m glad to share it with so many people I love…” she looked around and saw Lexa standing there before directing her gaze back to the general public, “and a few people I’ve never met before. But I’m sure you’re great, too. I feel like I’ve known Bell all my life, and I guess I pretty much have. But I know I’ll know him for the rest of it. He’s my best friend,” 

She took a breath and looked back at her husband with his strong jaw and kind eyes and thought about their lives together— the ease and partnership of it all— before returning her eyes to the crowd, “They say fairytales have happy endings, even though the passage can be tough. But Bell and I were friends, then lovers. And it’s been smooth all the way. Maybe that’s a better kind of fairytale.”

“Hear, hear!” came from the crowd and Clarke let out a light laugh. 

“A sort-of, toast-schmoast won’t be necessary. But if you could all wish us luck, Bell and I would appreciate it very much.”

She grabbed her glass and raised it.

“All ready? One, two, three.”

“Good luck!”

Clarke smiled and kissed Bellamy again but when she turned back towards the crowd, the green eyes she was searching for were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading, see you babes next time.


	4. Imagine a Last Chance Flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa's POV, at the shop.

_**Tuesday, May 28th, 2019** _

Lexa was in her shop, reorganizing the flowers in the display by color into a rainbow for Pride Month. She’d been stuck on blue, though. In fact, all week she’d been overcome and distracted by the color.

She saw it everywhere, in different hues and shades and forms: on the holds at her rock climbing gym, on the benches at the nearby park, even at the ends of a stranger’s hair. She sought the color out subconsciously but was always disappointed by what she’d found.

Because it was never the blue she was hoping for.

“Are you okay?”

Lexa turned to find Anya standing in the doorway leading to the coffee shop, her arms crossed and brow quirked as she analyzed Lexa. Anya had a way of sensing when something was off with her; whether it was the years of non-verbal communication they endured in Afghanistan or the looks they shot each other from opposite sides of their shop, Lexa wasn’t sure.

“I’m only asking because you’ve been spacing out recently, which isn’t like you.”

Lexa was tempted to tell her about the bride with the brilliant, blue eyes— Clarke— but that meant admitting that she was prepared to let go of someone else, and the thought of muttering it aloud— making it a reality— was too terrifying to fathom. Especially when the person she’d be letting go for was the least available woman in DC.

So instead, she rolled her eyes and turned back to the display. “Of course I’m fine, Anya. It’s just the booth for the parade, it’s taking up more time than I thought.”

Every year since they opened, Lexa and Anya set up a booth at the Pride Festival on Sunday. It was perhaps Lexa’s favorite part of Pride for the simple reason that it had been Costia’s favorite; it had less to do with the parties or drinking but more to do with engaging in a community that felt like a second home.

“But—”

Just then, a man in his mid-thirties with a receding hairline and a determined expression burst through the door, interrupting whatever Anya was going to say.

“Hello,” he greeted.

Anya mouthed a “good luck” as she returned to her side of the space and Lexa turned to the customer, her saving grace for all intents and purposes.

“Hi—” she started as she extricated herself from the display.

“You’ve gotta help me. I need a flower,” he interrupted, starting on the left wall with the movements of a nervous squirrel, “Just one. A good one. The best.”

Lexa started to follow behind him slowly. “Okay?”

“This is my last chance,” he muttered, moving from a pile of dahlias to a small pot of bleeding hearts, “My last chance flower.”

“Your last chance?” Lexa asked, though she was partially afraid of the answer.

He moved to the next wall, bypassing the orchids, “I really messed up. Only the right flower can save me.”

Lexa nodded though the man didn’t seem to notice. She’d had men come in looking for something to remedy similar situations many times before.

“What about a rose?” he asked before plucking a red rose out of its bin, “A red rose, what would that say?”

“Love…”

“Love’s nice, that works,” he said, nodding along.

“... and fidelity,” she finished.

His face dropped as he put the flower back. “Not a red rose, then.”

“No,” Lexa agreed, “Not a rose at all, it’s too obvious. If this really is your last chance, we need to find you something spectacular.”

There was a light knocking on the now open door, signalling another customer entering.

“Be right with you,” Lexa called over her shoulder.

“That’s fine,” a familiar voice replied.

Lexa whipped around faster than she thought possible, searching out that comforting blue that was acutely familiar yet completely unique to the blonde in front of her.

“Hi,” Clarke started, her face breaking into a smile at Lexa’s response.

“Hey,” Lexa greeted lamely, vaguely aware of the other customer, now just a background noise in her mind.

Though he didn’t seem to notice or care, already on the other wall eyeing petunias (a flower associated with anger and resentment.) She was tempted to move him on but her attention was entirely dedicated to the woman in front of her.

“How’re you doing?” Clarke asked with a softened smile, also side-eyeing the nervous man in the corner.

“Good,” Lexa said, her mind still foggy.

“Great, I just—” Clarke started before the man zoomed past her and out the door.

“Let’s see what’s out here…”

“— came to say thanks,” Clarke finished, eyes sparkling with contained humur.

“It was a total pleasure,” Lexa waved off, “Listen, sorry. I’m just dealing with…” Lexa gestured to the man who was now looking at succulents on the other side of the glass.

“Oh, God, of course. Go right ahead,” Clarke replied, beginning to move aside.

A tapping on the glass drew their attention to him, who asked Clarke through the window, “What’s your favorite flower?”

“I don’t know. I think I like lilies,” Clarke replied loudly.

The man stared at her for a moment, his head tilting in thought before he came to a conclusion, “They’re wrong.”

“How about this? Bird of paradise,” Lexa supplied, picking up a single flower.

The man made his way partially through the open door, eyeing her with curiosity, “Keep talking.”

“Real name’s Strelitzia, named after Charlotte of Strelitz,” Lexa started, her encyclopedia-like brain already getting excited. “She married King George III, had _15 kids._ They never spent more than an hour apart—”

“Okay, stop talking,” he interrupted, returning outside.

Lexa stood there for a moment, shocked, “Did he just…?”

“Do you want to come to dinner?” Clarke blurted instead of answering.

“Sorry?”

“Dinner with us, Bell and me?” Clarke asked, a blush starting to thread into her cheeks, “I mean, you don’t…”

“I’d love to,” Lexa blurted back, the man and his rudeness completely gone from her mind.

“Really? This Friday?” Clarke asked with a growing smile.

“Yeah, Friday. Why not?”

“Great, what’s your number? I can just—” Clarke started, pulling out her phone.

“Perfect,” the man announced walking back inside holding a phallic-looking cactus. “This is the one. My last-chance flower.”

He walked up to Lexa and handed her a twenty before turning to Clarke, who was trying to hold back laughter, “Wish me luck.”

Clarke shot Lexa a conspiratorial grin, “Good luck.”

* * *

 

“... then this man takes his _dick_ cactus, walks right up to my counter and says, ‘One black coffee, _extra hot_!’” Anya finished with a cackle.

Lincoln let out a booming laugh in response to their strange customer experience, just another one in their extensive repertoire.

They’d just closed up both sides of the shop when Lincoln showed up with an offer of a round of drinks at a bar a few doors down. Talking to Lincoln was easy, like riding a bike; there was an ease in settling in to knowing someone again.

“Oh, Lexa,” Anya continued, a wide smile set firmly on her booze-warmed face, “Tell him about the time that woman came in wanting a small bush for her boyfriend.”

“A bush?” Lincoln asked.

“Yeah, she—” Lexa started before Anya took over.

“She was getting something called the Bermuda triangle— you know, like _down there_ — and wanted Lexa to trim this potted bush into the same shape to announce it to her boyfriend!” Anya practically yelled, gesturing towards her crotch.

Several people turned and Lexa ducked her head as her ears burned, but not before slapping Anya’s shoulder, “Jesus, Anya.”

“Oh you’re no fun,” Anya slurred slightly as she rolled her eyes, “Back in the day, we used to talk about much worse things than the way a woman decided to shave.”

“Speaking of back in the day, did you keep in contact with anyone?” Lexa asked Lincoln pointedly, hoping to change the conversation, “I know Tristan and Penn went back for another tour.”

Lexa recalled her old unit fondly. Indra, fiery and loyal. Tristan, stubborn and unstoppable. Penn, playful and brave. Nyko, kind and nurturing.

They were like a family back then, something to cling to when humanity seemed too far gone.

Lincoln’s face sombered. “Penn… h—he didn’t make it. Tackled a grenade to save us all. And Tristan was closest to him, lost a leg in the blast.”

“Oh, God,” Anya sighed, downing the rest of her drink before gesturing for another.

Lexa remembered Penn: his love for his country and the diverse people he fought for; his love of soccer— both playing and watching— and the stories he wrote in an old leather-bound book from his dad and the boyfriend he had waiting for him at home.

“Penn… he died doing what he loved, defending his unit and serving his country. For him, there was no better death,” Lexa said with all of the assuredness she could muster as his wide, youthful smile flashed in her mind.

Lincoln sighed before continuing with a small smile, “Tristan’s having a baby this year. A little girl, says he’s gonna name her Penn.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Anya said with a growing smile and a raised glass.

Lexa and Lincoln clinked their glasses in response.

“And Nyko? Indra?” Lexa asked.

“They’re both doing well. Nyko is working as a trauma surgeon in New York and Indra owns a boxing gym not far from here, actually,” Lincoln said with a smile. “You guys should come check it out at some point.”

Anya swung an arm over Lexa’s shoulder, “We should, it’ll be fun to kick your scrawny ass again.”

Lexa elbowed Anya hard enough that she moved off of her, “I want to see you try.”

Lexa looked up to see Lincoln smirking at them.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing, I just didn’t know you two had gotten together,” Lincoln replied with a shrug.

Anya almost spit out her beer and started coughing as Lexa balked, “What? Her, me, us? Ew, no.”

Anya stopped coughing just enough to say, “I’d rather sleep with a man.”

Lexa glared at her a little, “Hey!”

Lincoln started laughing again and Lexa slapped him on his broad shoulder as he rolled his eyes.

“So this Octavia you mentioned,” Anya continued, “How did you meet?”

“At Indra’s gym actually,” Lincoln replied as he signalled for another drink, “She was taking lessons for a piece she was writing and to say she was impressive would be an understatement.”

“A piece?”

“Yeah, she co-owns a media company with two of her friends but she mainly deals with the health and fitness side of it,” Lincoln said with pride before turning to Lexa, “I think you met at least one of her business partners at the wedding actually. She was the bride.”

Lexa perked up unconsciously at the blonde’s mention, unaware of Anya eyeing her.

“Bride?” Anya perused quietly before a lightbulb went off in her mind, “Does this bride perchance have blonde hair and blue eyes? Pretty? About Lexa’s height?”

Lincoln tilted his head to the side in confusion, reminiscent of a puppy, “Yeah, Clarke. Have you met her too?”

“No, but she came by the shop today to talk to our young Commander, here,” Anya said with a smirk.

“She just came to invite me to dinner with her and her husband,” Lexa said as nonchalantly as possible, though she’d been trying to figure out both why Clarke had asked and why she’d said yes in the first place.

And as if Anya had read heard her questioning thoughts, she suggested with a shrug, “Maybe married life is just so boring they are already looking for a third to spice things up?”

Warmth flooded Lexa’s cheeks as she stood suddenly to make an escape, “I’m going to the bathroom, get me another drink. And it’s _just dinner.”_

Lexa walked away and she must have had more to drink than she’d thought because she heard Lincoln mention a raven and how Anya would like her.

Her cheeks were still warm when she got to the bathroom and she lightly splashed water on her face, looking into the mirror.

_Dinner. It’s just dinner._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, cuties! My other story just updated as well, go take a read if you like. See ya next time!


	5. Imagine a Bid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's POV.

**_Tuesday, May 28th, 2019_ **

“Alright guys, partner up at the bags! We’re going to do the 2-3-2 combination we worked on before, 30 seconds then switch for the next five minutes then we’re done!” their instructor, Indra, shouted from the center of the room. She was a muscular woman, with a commanding voice and piercing eyes, all tensed muscles and barely contained ferocity simmering under the surface.

This was Clarke’s first time doing a boxing class and she could say definitively that it was her last. She watched Octavia, with all of the energy and excitement of a newborn colt even after the hour-long torture session they’d already endured, and wondered how she’d let the brunette convince her to come in the first place.

_ “It’s like Zumba but for Millennials, even soccer moms can do it. Trust me, you’ll love it!”  _ she’d said lightly, as if suggesting they splurge on some new shoes or try the new Moroccan restaurant down the street.

But this was the same Octavia who went heli-skiing in Colorado and free climbing in Yosemite, and Clarke couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been.

She glanced over at Raven, her partner for all intents and purposes, and asked, “Do you think if we slipped out the back, anyone would notice?”

“Octavia would,” Raven replied darkly, glaring over her shoulder at their friend as they made their way towards a punching bag in the back.

“At least she’s paying for drinks the next time we go out?” Clarke offered.

“She better be,” Raven muttered, “‘Trust me,’ she said, ‘It’ll be fun!’ Only a masochist would think this is fun.”

“And only a sadist would drag their friends along for the ride.”

Their eyes tracked back towards Octavia, who was bouncing on her toes in anticipation for the whistle even as a bruise began to form on her brow bone.

They said “yep” and “that tracks” simultaneously just before the whistle blew, forcing Clarke to start the sequence as Raven held the bag. 

The following five minutes felt like five years and when the final whistle blew, the two of them collapsed against each other as they slid to the ground.

Octavia came bounding over to them, a wide, excitable grin painted across her face.

“Soooo, what’d you guys think?” she asked innocently.

“Sadist,” Raven mumbled.

“Masochist,” Clarke followed.

“You guys are such wimps,” Octavia huffed as put her hands on her hips, “Now come on. If you get up now, I’ll buy you both coffee.”

“If I  _ could  _ move right now,” Raven forced out, “I would  _ kill you _ .”

“If you came with me to the gym more often, you’d _ be able _ to move,” Octavia pointed out.

Clarke glanced at the mat underneath Octavia and back to her face, all smug haughtiness in the harsh, gym lighting, and before she could stop herself, she swept her leg under Octavia’s feet, sending her to the ground.

“ _ Ow!” _

Raven let out a loud, raucous laugh, positively wheezing as she regained her breath, before leaning over to plant a kiss on Clarke’s cheek.

“You are officially my hero!”

“Anytime, babe.” 

* * *

 

“Next item, lot 48, the 1930s American oak mantle clock.”

When Clarke could finally stand again, she had bid her friends goodbye to meet Bellamy at an auction. They had found it,  _ the  _ couch. A brown leather chesterfield with brass studs, an identical to the one her father grew up with in England. It was the one they’d been holding out for— an empty, sofa-shaped hole in their living room evidence of that— but Clarke couldn’t find it in herself to care as much as she thought she would.

Now that her body and mind had slowed, she couldn’t focus on anything except Lexa. How her green eyes lit up at the shop earlier that day, how passionately she described a flowers origin story— as if she were chronicling the life of someone famous— and how close she had been to Finn at the wedding. 

“Okay, baby,” Bellamy started excitedly as he followed her through a row of tables, “now you gotta glare. Give ‘em the red eye. I’d do it, but you’re a lot more frightening.”

“No, I’m not,” she replied automatically. That had been an ongoing tease within their friend group, a result of a night out and a stare down with a man twice her size after he tried to take their booth. “Who am I glaring at?”

“Anyone who wants that sofa.”

“They can’t have it. It’s mine,” she stated.

“Ours.”

“Ours.”

“If it’s under the limit, 200,” Bellamy replied as he tried on a kitschy Navy hat.

“I don’t see why we need a limit,” Clarke shrugged.

Bellamy let out a small, sardonic chuckle, “I like limits, otherwise you’ll go mad.”

“Damn right I will. That thing is mine.”

“Ours,” he said before pressing the cash button on an antique register, letting out a loud ding.

The small bidding war quieted and eyes turned their way.

“If it’s under the limit,” Bellamy whispered.

The bidding continued as Clarke said as nonchalantly as possible, “I invited someone to dinner Friday. That florist, Lexa.”

“Oh, great. I’ll cook.”

Clarke let out a small laugh and said, “Please don’t.”

The laugh was a gut reaction to Bellamy’s new obsession with cooking and being healthy;  _ we’re adults and married now,  _ he reasoned,  _ we can’t keep eating like we’re in college.  _

His reasoning and goal were all well and good with the exception of one thing: the man couldn’t cook to save his life. And Clarke— whose specialties were frozen taquitos and pasta— wasn’t exactly a big help. 

“Moving right along,” the auctioneer continued, “Lot 49…”

“Okay, baby, this is us,” Bellamy said excitedly, pulling her over to their sofa to sit.

“... the very attractive sofa, there. Brown leather chesterfield, brass stud decoration in slightly distressed condition. The bidding starts at 90.”

“I asked because…” Clarke started before facing Bellamy, “Now this is my plan.”

“Oh no...”

“I thought we’d have Finn come by.”

“Great idea, excellent,” Bellamy replied, his eyes on the auctioneer, “But what would be a better idea is if we didn’t do that.”

“... 90. Do I hear 90 dollars?”

“Not from us,” Bellamy answered him cockily, “We’ll come in late, psych them on the way out.”

Clarke barely heard the auctioneer, “I think they’d be perfect for each other. Don’t you think they’d be perfect?”

“100, 100. 110, thank you.”

“Red eye, baby. Still the red eye. Who?” Bellamy asked offhandedly.

“Lexa and Finn, I think they’d be perfect,” Clarke insisted.

“120. One… 130, thank you.”

“Well, he did say he was onto something at the wedding before she bailed,” Bellamy relented distractedly, his focus still on the bidding war.

“There you go,” Clarke replied triumphantly, ignoring the pang in her chest, as she turned to the stage, “It’s totally on.”

“150 at the back…”

“Okay,” Bellamy said, leaning forward.

“You know, it’s funny,” Clarke continued, “I went by her shop to say thank you for what she did at our wedding…”

“160…”

Bellamy hummed, “Not yet.”

“... you know when you’ve just met someone, but straight away… you feel as though they’re going to be your friend?”

Clarke thought about Lexa and the punch bowl and the petals flying down from the trees and her green eyes sparkling with mischief after she’d fished out the ring, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“... 170? 180.”

“Nearly there,” Bellamy muttered excitedly under his breath.

“Who knows why. Past life, physiognomy.”

“190.”

“But for some reason you just kind of click,” Clarke finished with a smile.

“Here we go…” Bellamy said, beginning to raise their bidding card.

“Two… 210? 210,” the auctioneer stated, though Clarke hardly heard it thinking about Lexa’s smile when she’d showed up at the shop earlier.

“Shit.”

“I don’t know what I’m saying,” Clarke relented before turning back towards Bellamy, “But do you know what I mean?”

Bellamy had the same look on his face that he had when he told her that the Eagles broke up for a second time, “Baby, we lost it. The sofa.”

She stared him down, deciding if he was tricking her in some cruel way, but his eyes never wavered.

“... What?”

“Over our limit.”

Before Clarke knew what she was doing, she snatched the card from his hand. 

“400!”

* * *

 

**_Friday, May 31st, 2019_ **

“Hello, beautiful person. Sorry, I’m late,” Bellamy greeted, walking in and planting a kiss on her cheek, “You look spectacular.”

Clarke was standing in their bathroom at home, touching up her makeup. She’d been admittedly distracted all week leading up to tonight. So distracted, she couldn’t even settle a debate between Octavia and Raven as to whether they should feature  _ Boxing: This Year’s Barre? _ or  _ How to Navigate DC Pride: The Ins and Outs of the Proudest Weekend of the Year  _ for the homepage of their site (something she was normally very good at doing).

“How was work?” Clarke asked offhandedly as she touched up her gloss. 

“Shite,” Bellamy sighed, moving around her for the mouthwash. “I’m quitting.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, “You always say that.”

He wiped his mouth off after spitting.

“Just watch me, one day I’ll do it. Tell them I don’t like them or their cash,” he stated firmly as he walked into the closet, “Although, I do like their cash. Whatever, I’ll think of something and then I’ll walk out.”

Clarke replied with a sigh, “I’ll be waiting with champagne.”

She’d heard it before, many times. Bellamy worked in stocks, a profession laid out for him by his father before the latter’s passing. He hated it, the deception and the greed, but he felt it was a dishonor to his father’s memory and, to Bellamy, family was the most important thing.

“God, I wish it was just us tonight.”

“He’ll definitely be into her, right?” Clarke asked instead of responding, “Finn? He’ll like Lexa?”

She’d played different scenarios over in her head. Finn acts like an ass and Lexa leaves. Lexa insults Finn’s masculinity and he leaves. They get along perfectly and become their permanent double date companions. 

Clarke didn’t know how the night would play out, she just knew that she wanted Lexa in her life, regardless.

“Well, she’s got a pulse, hasn’t she?” Bellamy asked ironically.

“No, but, I mean... “ Clarke started turning around, “But  _ you _ do. You would?”

“Well, she’s not really my bag of chips, darling,” Bellamy relented, “But, yeah. I suppose.”

Bellamy walked back into the bathroom, a fresh shirt on, “What do you think?”

“Of her? I haven’t really,” Clarke answered quickly, feeling as though she’d somehow been caught as she turned back towards the mirror.

“Ha, no, no,” Bellamy said with a chuckle as he looked at her reflection, “The shirt.”

“Oh, um,” Clarke started with a shake of her head,  _ of course _ , “It’s gorgeous. You’re gorgeous.”

“Yeah?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows, “Wanna fool around?”

The doorbell rang downstairs, interrupting whatever Bellamy had in mind.

“Hm, saved by the bell,” Bellamy said with a smirk, “But you’re in a  _ lot _ of trouble later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading! See ya next time xo


	6. Imagine a Set Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa's POV, Friday

**_Friday, May 31st, 2019_ **

Lexa had just left work, though not without being on the receiving end of Anya’s knowing glance, and walked through the door of her uncle’s place, an apartment about 15 minutes walk from the shop. 

That was when she saw her Uncle Gustus sitting in his large recliner, dressed in pajamas with a newspaper in hand, his square glasses resting on his nose.

“What are you doing?” she asked as she made her way into the kitchen to place the bouquet down. 

It had become a routine of hers, to stop by on Fridays after work to drop off a fresh bouquet. Ever since her Aunt Idina had died a few years before, she’d made a point to come by and add some life back into the home in one of the only ways she knew how. 

She remembered the Gustus of her childhood, with his booming laugh and larger than life stories and how much he loved his wife. They had taken her in when she was five and her parents had died in a car accident and, despite the tragedy, she’d lived a very happy childhood. Because Idina was kind and gentle and warm and Gustus was gruff and blunt, and they had treated her as though she were their own.

“I live here, what are you doing?” his deep voice asked sarcastically from the other room.

She walked back into the living space to get a vase filled with mostly dead gardenias, “I came to tidy up. You should be dressed, Uncle Gus.”

“Well, I was,” he continued, not looking up from his paper. “I’m just settling in for the evening.”

“It’s five o’clock,” she insisted, walking back to the kitchen. “You said you were going out later.”

“No,  _ you _ said I was going out later,” he contradicted. He glanced up at her with a confused expression as she made her way back in with a fresh bouquet, “Have you finished work already?”

“I’m busy tonight,” she replied as she rearranged the peonies and lilies in the vase.

“What, a date?” he asked, a smile growing on his face, “Does my girl have a date?”

“No, but you could have,” Lexa said, placing a community paper with local activities in his lap.

Gustus let out a deep bark of a laugh before glancing down at it, “Very funny. Bowling teams, bingo nights, book clubs. All of these people looking for love when they realize there are more years behind them than ahead of them.”

He tossed the paper onto the coffee table, “You know, those people are sad.”

Lexa sat on the adjoining couch, her eyes soft, “You’re sad.”

“I’m not sad, I’m depressed,” Gustus stated firmly, “There’s a difference.”

Lexa looked at him— his beard graying, his eyes losing their spark— and she felt a rush of empathetic grief wash over her. Death was hard, but perhaps more so on the people it left behind to pick up the pieces. She would know.

“I wish you’d get a life,” she said, trying to make him understand, “I wish you would.”

Gustus sighed, placing a hand on her knee, “Yes, I know you do.”

* * *

 

Lexa was in the Adams Morgan neighborhood of DC, standing at the front door of a three floor, brick townhouse, with a bouquet in her hand. She was nervous, inexplicably so. Perhaps it was the blonde waiting on the other side, or perhaps it was the fact that the blonde’s husband was also in there.

Regardless, she’d agreed to dinner and the chance to see Clarke again outweighed the pain it might cause later.

She reached for the doorbell with a sigh.  _ Ring. _

The door swung open and Lexa had to work to contain her disappointment.

“Hey,” Bellamy greeted with a wide smile.

“Hey.”

“Come in,” he said, widening the doorway into the living space, “You look great.”

Lexa looked around briefly. The space was open, filled with various knick knacks and paintings and lights that all came together in a harmonious cacophony of color that somehow worked for the home. And Bellamy standing there with his broad smile and curly hair— now much less contained than when she’d seen him last— somehow both blended in and stood out.

“Thanks,” she said with a smile, “Guess what I brought?”

His brow furrowed until she whipped the bouquet out from behind her back, an assortment of lilies and greenery.

“Oh, bless you. Clarke will flip,” he said, taking it and turning slightly, “Sweetheart?”

“Coming!” a voice called.

She made her way down the stairs then, her blonde hair in more defined curls but her eyes just as bright as before.

“Hey,” Clarke greeted, her smile widening as she stepped next to Bellamy. 

“Hi,” Lexa smiled back.

They stood there for a moment, staring at one another until Bellamy cleared his throat.

“So… come check out our new sofa!” Clarke demanded excitedly, moving into the living space.

“Our  _ expensive  _ new sofa,” Bellamy added.

“Well, you can’t put a price on comfort,” Lexa offered as she took off her jacket.

“You see, a woman after my own heart,” Clarke said with a shit-eating grin, the satisfaction coming off of her in waves.

“Listen, do you believe in reincarnation?” Bellamy asked.

Lexa tilted her head to the side.  _ What? _

“It’s just that Clarke thought you had met before,” he continued.

Lexa felt her heartbeat pick up as she turned towards the blonde.

Clarke looked caught, her eyes widening like a deer stuck in headlights, “That’s not quite what I…”

“I’d have remembered, I think,” Lexa interjected with a soft smile. 

Bellamy glanced between them with a cocked brow before saying, “Well… let’s hang up these flowers and get that jacket in some water.”

“I’ll do it,” Clarke said quickly before grabbing both the bouquet and the coat, making her escape.

Lexa’s eyes followed the blonde back into the kitchen briefly before Bellamy spoke up again.

“So, Lexa. Wine?” he asked, making his way over to a bar cart.

“Sure.”

“Red? White?”

“Dealer’s choice,” she said as she made her way over to a bookshelf; there was everything from Kierkegaard to Hemingway to Hillary Clinton littering the shelf. “Are these yours or Clarke’s?”

“Mostly mine,” he said, coming up beside her and handing her a glass of white, “The only thing Clarke can sit still long enough to do is paint.”

“Oh?” 

Lexa could picture them on Sunday afternoons— Clarke setting up an easel while Bellamy read on the couch, occasionally vocalizing a comment that she didn’t hear because she was too wrapped up in her work— and Lexa felt a sting of jealousy in her gut.

“Yeah, reading and writing are more my thing,” he said with a shrug.

“What do you write?” 

“This and that…” he started, moving to the couch, “The book I’ve wanted to write is a guide to wherever is the coolest place on the planet at the time.”

Lexa sat next to him and nodded, though he must have seen the confusion on her face because he continued with a small chuckle, “If it’s February, it’s the Rio Carnival. And if it’s, I don’t know, May, it’s running with the bulls in Pamplona. So if you ever want to plan a trip or party or whatever, you just open up the book and there’s me telling you where to go.”

“‘Cause you’ve been there,” Lexa finished.

Bellamy shrugged, “Yeah, that was the plan, but um, you know… Clarke, life, work.  _ Clarke. _ ”

“Well, someday,” Lexa said with a knowing smile. She’d seen many parts of the world when she’d served but at the end of it, she would have rather spent that time with the one she loved.

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe,” Bellamy said with a small smile, “So, anyways. What about you? Married? Ever been married, ever gonna be married?”

“No. No. And maybe now that laws have changed on a national level,” Lexa replied with a cheeky smile. Her and Costia were going to wait until their marriage was legal nationwide, though they never got the chance.

“How do you mean?” Bellamy asked, his head tilted like a puppy. An oblivious puppy, but a puppy nonetheless.

“Well, I’m gay,” Lexa stated with a straight face.

Bellamy let out a chuckle, his mind processing the information as though it were a foreign concept, before giving an awkward smile. (He did live in D.C. after all, the concept shouldn’t be too foreign to him.) “Hmm. Lovely.  _ Well done _ .”

Lexa squinted at him in confusion.  _ Well done? _

The bell rang again and Clarke let out a “I’ve got it!” as she made her way to the front door.

“So, that’ll be Finn…” Bellamy supplied, following his wife with nervous eyes.

_ And it all makes sense, _ Lexa thought,  _ it’s a setup _ . 

“Finn’s coming?”

“Yeah… sorry.”

* * *

 

They were sitting around the dining table, eating overcooked chicken and brussel sprouts, and Lexa couldn’t stop mulling over the fact that she had been set up. With a man. Perhaps the straightest man to ever walk the planet. Besides Bellamy. 

How had she ended up here?

Finn made a humming noise before saying, “Bell?”

“Hmm?”

“This is absolutely revolting.”

“You really think so?” Bellamy asked with a quirked brow.

“Yes, sweetheart,” Clarke said with a smile and a soothing hand on Bellamy’s arm, “It’s absolutely atrocious.”

Lexa found herself smiling when the group released a communal laugh despite the odd conditions.

“Anyways, more importantly, listen,” Finn started after taking a gulp of wine, “It’s been two weeks now. Let’s have it. How much better is sex after marriage?”

“Oh, please,” Clarke begged with an eyeroll.

“Because when I’ve had sex with people after they were married, they have said that it’s fantastic,” Finn finished with a cocky smile. “Clarke?”

Clarke sat back with her wine glass and a cocked brow, “Get married and find out yourself.”

“Come on, Finn couldn’t make that commitment,” Bellamy supplied as he poured Lexa and himself more wine, “We’re talking two or three years of his life.”

“Well, not a one-person person,” Finn defended to Lexa with a casual shrug.

“You really don’t think your other half’s out there?” Bellamy asked.

“Or, you know, in here…” Clarke suggested with a not so subtle nod towards Lexa.

Lexa blanched and Bellamy said, “Actually, Clarke…”

“What, there’s some gorgeous women around,” Clarke insisted.

Lexa was about to intervene when Finn continued, “Yes, there are, and I’m trying to sleep with as many of them as I can.”

“And you never fail, do you?” Bellamy teased.

Finn turned to Lexa with a cocky smirk, “You know, they teach the birds and the bees about  _ me _ .”

Lexa let out a small laugh. Now that she’d adjusted to his outrageousness, Finn could be charming, if not a little daft.

“It’ll all change when you meet Miss Right,” Clarke said definitively.

“And how am I supposed to know when I do that?” Finn asked.

“You don’t know, not right away,” Clarke answered, swirling her wine before glancing over at her husband, “It just feels… warm and comfortable… and you hang in there and give it a chance. And before you know it, you’re like… ‘Yeah, this is it. This must be love.’”

Bellamy gave her a small smile, “Yeah, I’m with her.”

“I’m with her, too,” Finn seconded, before reaching for Clarke’s empty plate, “Here, give me that.”

Lexa thought of her first love, Costia. Her chocolate eyes and her expressive laugh and how she knew the moment they saw each other that what they had was… epic. She thought of her parents story— how her father saw her mother marching in DC for women’s rights and decided then and there that she was the one for him— and of her Uncle Gustus and Aunt Idina— meeting in another country before finding each other again in DC, as if fate intended for them to be together. 

And she thought about meeting Clarke, seeing her blue orbs an aisle-length away, and how the feeling of simply  _ knowing _ washed over her in that moment. 

And before she could stop herself, Lexa objected, “I don’t agree.”

The movement in the room slowed as she looked over at Clarke, “I… I think you know  _ immediately _ . As soon as your eyes… Then everything that happens from then on, just  _ proves _ that you had been right in that first moment. When you suddenly realized that you had been  _ incomplete _ and now you are  _ whole _ .”

Clarke’s blue eyes wavered for the first time since they’d met all those weeks ago; a mixture of confusion and defiance and… warmth, swarming in them and fighting for dominance.

“Actually, I’m with her, I’d say,” Bellamy said slowly.

“I’m with her, too,” Finn agreed again.

“Great, now who’s for dessert?” Bellamy asked, standing and making his way towards the kitchen.  

“Yes,” Lexa agreed.

“No,” Clarke rebuked.  _ Defiance it is, then. _

“No?”

“No,” Clarke reaffirmed, leaning in as her eyes blazed like blue hellfire, “If you think that, you think that everyone that doesn’t have all that…  _ business  _ is settling for less.”

“That’s…” Lexa started with a yielding shrug, “not what I’m saying.”

“That kind of  _ is _ what you’re saying,” Clarke persisted.

“Well, I think she said it a bit nicer,” Finn interjected, glued to his seat as the drama unfolded.

Bellamy came back with a plate of brownies and an appeasing smile, “Anyone want ice cream too?”

* * *

 

Lexa was straddling the ledge of their rooftop terrace with an umbrella, enjoying the unseasonably cool air and letting the rain wash away the inner turmoil of the night as she marvelled at the D.C. skyline.

She had to escape for a moment; from Finn’s flirtatious smile and Bellamy’s friendly, knowing smirk and from Clarke’s eyes, both hot and cold as she looked at Lexa and tore into her soul.

“What are you doing?” a familiar voice called, a laugh lightening her tone.

Lexa turned to see the blonde standing just on the edge of what was covered, wearing a smile so bright, Lexa thought it might just chase away the rain.

Lexa smiled back and threw an arm up, gesturing to the world, “It’s gorgeous!”

“It’s raining,” Clarke countered with another laugh.

Clarke gave her an insistent look and Lexa got down with a sigh, making her way to Clarke so that she could close the sliding glass door behind her.

“Bell won’t come up here,” Clarke said, looking out, “They say it’s subconscious fear you’ll throw yourself off… but he freaks out when I go near the edge, too.”

Lexa nodded in understanding, though Clarke wasn’t looking at her; Lexa had few fears, but just the thought of one of the people she loved being in danger sent a stab of anxiety straight to her heart.

“Sorry about dinner,” Clarke apologized.

“I’ve eaten worse,” Lexa replied teasingly with a shrug.

Clarke smiled, as though she was going to joke with her, before her face fell, “I… kind of went off.”

“You didn’t go off,” Lexa said, before seeing Clarke’s knowing gaze in her periphery, “You went a little way off.”

They turned towards each other completely, each wearing a smile. Clarke looked her up and down before running both hands over her shoulders.

“Your wet,” Clarke said.

“I’m fine.”

“And you’re cold,” Clarke continued, ignoring her protest and taking off her jacket.

“I’m fine!” Lexa insisted again with a laugh as she tried to wave away Clarke’s coat. 

“You can have it. Really, you can have it.”

“I'm so fine.”

“Just take it!”

“t's fine. Well… Okay, now you're cold,” Lexa said with a smile, though she pulled Clarke’s coat tighter around her. It smelled like fall: like spices and warm milk and honey, slightly exotic yet totally familiar.

Clarke leaned in with a triumphant laugh and Lexa got the distinct impression that this woman always got what she wanted. She was close, so close, and Lexa was being to wonder— hope— that maybe what she wanted was  _ her _ .

“Hey, what are you guys up to?” Bellamy called up the stairs to them and Lexa saw it as if it were in slow motion: Clarke shrank. Her smile fell, her shoulders caved, and she leaned back as guilt washed over her eyes.

“Nothing, absolutely nothing.”

* * *

 

“Next left.”

“It’s one option, yes. How about instead, we just go straight back to my place?”

Lexa rolled her eyes, a biting retort on the tip of her tongue, but she just didn’t have it in her. Her mind kept drifting back to the rooftop: Clarke’s mischievous, glowing eyes in the low light, her lithe laugh, how she leaned in just so, how she fell away and shut down at the sound of her husband’s voice. 

And now she was stuck in a car with Finn at  _ Clarke’s  _ encouragement. And she’d agreed.

God, she was so totally screwed.

“Finn, take the next left.”

Something in her tone must have set off the alarm in his head that he needed to act like a real person for a moment, because at the stoplight he turned to her slightly and said, “You all right, Lexa?”

“Why, ‘cause I don’t want to sleep with you?” she snapped quietly.

“You’re welcome not to sleep with me,” he replied with a shrug, “just don’t sit in my car looking all bored like that.”

Lexa sighed, pushing her hair out of her face, “I’m sorry. Really.”

“Well, you’ve got something on your mind, that’s obvious,” Finn replied, ignoring her apology, “You know what you should do? You should share, with me. Because beneath this rugged exterior… there beats a sensitive soul.”

Lexa looked over at him and deadpanned, “No there doesn’t.”

“No there doesn’t, but tell me anyway.”

Lexa responded with silence as she considered; Finn was hardly the person to talk to about personal issues, but he was also objective and most people in her life were definitely not that.

“Fine, but not without a drink and a burger.”

“Agreed, Bellamy’s chicken was drier than the Sahara.”

* * *

 

They were sitting at a bar a few blocks from Lexa’s apartment, indulging in their second dinner of the night. They talked about a number of things— work, travel, schooling, interests—  before Finn finally asked after a lull:

“So, it’s a girl thing, right? I mean, it’s got to be.”

She looked over at him with a quirked brow— Bellamy must have told him— and he continued.

“It’s a hot and horny scene. It’s you and another vagitarian,” Finn said dramatically, implying his jest, “Come on. Tell Uncle Finn all about it. Spare me no detail.”

Lexa was tempted to shut him down, tell him how politically incorrect his  _ entire  _ persona was, but she got the feeling this was his way of showing he cared. 

So instead she said, “Have you ever met someone and just… But there was someone else already?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied casually, “Hot ones are always taken.”

“So what do you do?” Lexa asked.

“What do I do? I sleep with them,” he answered with a shrug, the epitome of nonchalance, “Partner is their problem, not mine.”

Lexa thought about Anya’s last relationship, how her girlfriend cheated on her and didn’t care about the wreck she left in her wake, and shook her head, “Yeah, I think you don’t mess with other couples. Don’t cause that pain,  _ ever. _ You just face facts that it can’t happen… walk away. Hook up with someone available instead.”

Finn regarded her intently as she spoke, and for a moment she thought she had gotten through to him. That was when he said, “Well, your place or mine?”

Lexa let out a slight laugh before standing and throwing a twenty on the bartop, “Jeez, Finn. Come on, take me home.”

She saw his cocked brow out of the corner of her eye and quickly continued, “ _ Just  _ to drop me off, you perv.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, babes! 
> 
> If you read my other story, The Imposters, I promise I'm working on it. This is just an easier write. 
> 
> See you all soon xo


	7. Imagine a Run In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's POV, an eventful Saturday.

**_Saturday, June 1th 2019_ **

“This traffic is  _ insane. _ ”

“Mhmm.”

“Honestly we should just move. You know, to one of those quaint towns that only has one street light and zero crime and a quirky, themed B&B that brings in just enough tourists to keep the town afloat.”

“Whatever you want, babe.”

“Yeah and our kids would love growing up in a small town. Just think about it: little Adolf and Mussolini playing in the yard, or rather taking turns dictating it. What do you think?”

“What?” Clarke exclaimed as she whipped around from where she’d been staring out the window. 

She was thinking about last night, about Lexa’s eyes in the dim light— so passionate, so sure— and the words she said, now running on repeat in Clarke’s mind.  _ That moment. When you suddenly realized that you had been incomplete and now you are whole.   _

The truth of those words reverberated in Clarke’s soul, echoing and bouncing, ebbing and flowing. It was a truth that could not be a truth, because if she allowed herself to be honest with those words, she would be forced to accept that she believed in them wholeheartedly and that “that moment” happened on her wedding day and  _ not  _ with her husband.

“You were spacing off, babe,” Bellamy said with a chuckle, “But good to know you don’t want our children named after psychotic dictators.”

“Sorry… this week was long,” Clarke said with a dismissive shrug, pushing the guilt of her thoughts out of her mind.

“Wanna talk about it?” Bellamy asked as he took her hand in his, his tone more serious.

Clarke placed a grateful kiss on the back of it and gave him a small smile, “Not right now, but thanks.”

“So, do we  _ have  _ to go to the farmer’s market today? We’re gonna be late meeting the group for the game,” he asked, directing the conversation in a new direction. He was asking because they were currently on the Capital Beltway and heading 30 minutes away from their Adams Morgan home to a farmer’s market in Beltsville, Maryland. And D.C. United, their team for all intents and purposes, was playing later on.

“Hey, you’re the one who is on a health kick and decided to drag me along with you. Organic this, gluten-free that. I was perfectly happy ordering in Chinese for the rest of our lives.”

“Well, you’ll thank me when we are living more enriched lives,” Bellamy said as though quoting a self-help book.

“I’ll thank you when I’ve eaten something that isn’t burnt,” Clarke countered with an eye roll. 

They pulled up to Spicknall’s Farmer’s Market—the only one worth going to in Bellamy’s opinion— and made their way in. 

They had just started in on a produce stand when Bellamy asked, “So, you promise me the whole matchmaking thing is over, right?”

Clarke balked as she handed a ten over to the vendor in exchange for some asparagus and carrots and moved on. It had gone well: Finn flirted, Lexa laughed. And the sinking in Clarke’s stomach was absolutely not related to either fact. 

“What? Last night was a big success. They  _ left _ together,” she emphasized, ignoring how her stomach knotted, “That distant sound you hear? Wedding bells, my friend.”

“Wait, you didn’t twig?” Bellamy asked, using another term her father had imparted on him, “Damn, you’re so uncool.”

“Twig? Twig what?” she asked as she turned to face her husband and continued walking backwards.

“Well…” Bellamy started almost conspiratorially, “the thing you didn’t know about Lexa is that… she’s right here!”

Clarke whipped around, blue eyes meeting green almost like second nature. Lexa looked amazing, if not a little frazzled, her green eyes bright and wide and her wavy hair pulled back into braids. 

“Hey, hey!” Bellamy greeted.

“Hey, hi,” Lexa returned, her gaze bouncing between the two of them.

“Hello,” Clarke replied with a nervous smile, just now noticing the tall, dangerous-looking blonde standing next to Lexa. She had legs for days and cheekbones to cut diamonds, her black leather jacket a stark contrast to the plaid and floral-patterned patrons that usually occupied the space. 

“Hi,” Lexa said again, her gaze landing on Clarke.

“Weirdest thing,” Bellamy continued, “We were just talking about you.”

“Oh, all nice, I hope,” Lexa replied with a large smile before her friend coughed gently, “Oh Bellamy, this is Anya.”

“Anya,” he greeted.

“Bellamy,” the blonde greeted cooly, a teasing smirk beginning to color her face.

“Oh, and Clarke,” she continued.

“Clarke,” she said with an upticked brow and a curt nod

“Anya,” she forced out. Clarke couldn’t explain it, but she didn’t like this woman or her demeanor or how close she seemed to be to Lexa.

“Lexa?” Anya asked, turning her cocked brow towards her friend.

“Good. So, umm… Saturday shopping?” Lexa asked.

“Is right,” Bellamy replied enthusiastically, sounding like Tony the Tiger saying his signature catchphrase.

“All the way out here?” Anya asked.

“Better produce,” Lexa and Bellamy answered simultaneously before shooting each other slight grins.

“And you?” Clarke asked.

“One of my suppliers refuses to come into the city so I meet her here,” Lexa replied, her smile still a little too big to be considered casual.

“That’s nice,” Bellamy responded with a nod.

They all paused, the silence hanging over them awkwardly, so Lexa continued, “Well enjoy it. And listen, thanks for dinner. We should definitely…”

“Definitely,” Clarke chimed in, ignoring Anya’s look that was equal parts analytical and confused.

“We will,” Bellamy agreed.

“Okay, well… Have a nice rest of your day,” Lexa said then with a softer smile, her eyes landing on Clarke one last time.

“You too,” Clarke replied, returning the grin perhaps a little too enthusiastically to counteract the look she was receiving from Anya.

They moved down to another aisle, far enough away from Lexa for Clarke to take in a breath.

“So, what were you saying about Lexa…?” Clarke asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Lexa’s gay,” Bellamy said as casually as discussing the weather.

Clarke blanched, “She’s gay.”

“As a tennis player,” Bellamy replied with a cocky smirk as he looked at some zucchini, “Hey, you reckon that’s her girlfriend?”

Clarke barely heard him though.  _ Gay. _ Clarke felt her heart quickening, an unfamiliar feeling akin to anxiety and shock taking over her system.  _ Gay. _

“I mean, she doesn’t exactly come off that way but you never know, you know?”

Clarke’s mind was racing back to the night prior: how she’d leaned towards Lexa as if drawn by a magnet, how the spark in Lexa’s green eyes caused warmth to pool in her stomach, how Finn’s wily smirk and Lexa’s accommodating laugh caused that warmth to dissipate and unease to replace it. 

How Lexa had leaned in too.

How her eyes only really sparked when she had looked at Clarke.

How, after every accommodating laugh towards Finn, she would always direct her gaze back to Clarke to see if she was laughing too.

_ Shit. _

“H—how? When?” she stuttered out.

“Well, I think she was born that way, Clarke,” Bellamy replied sarcastically over his shoulder, unaware of his wife’s existential crisis occurring behind him. 

That seemed to pull Clarke out of her spiral slightly and she stepped forward to slap Bellamy on the shoulder.

“Ow!”

“That’s not what I meant, you jerk,” Clarke said briskly, quickly grabbing the best looking vegetables as Bellamy handed over money to the bemused salesman, “How do  _ you _ know she’s gay?”

“She told me at dinner,” he shrugged as they continued down the aisle.

“And you waited until now to tell  _ me _ ?” she asked, her voice rising in pitch.

Bellamy seemed to just realize Clarke’s growing hysteria and he slowed to give her a confused, if not concerned, look.

“Well, I didn’t think it was that important. Why is it such a big deal? I mean, Raven dates girls and you’ve never had a problem with that…” he trailed off.

Clarke blanched. It wasn’t—  _ shouldn’t be _ — a big deal. 

Clarke was proud to be immersed in the LGBTQ+ community of DC. She had coworkers and friends who were a part of it and her company was one of the larger sponsors of Pride in DC. And Raven, who knew since she was twelve that she was just as interested in women as she was in men, made sure everyone in their friend group was educated and accepting of those in the community. 

So why was learning that Lexa was gay any different? Why was her reaction so extreme?

“Of course it’s not a big deal. I just—”

“Well, what do you know?” a dry voice to their left said, “We were just talking about you this time.”

Anya and Lexa were standing to their left at one of the junctions, Anya wearing a knowing smirk and Lexa a nervous one.

Clarke immediately looped her arm through Bellamy’s, a gut reaction when she was thrown off guard, as the two made their way over. 

“Babe, we’ll be late for kickoff,” Clarke reminded him lowly as she smiled at the two women, her mind still reeling as she processed the rush of contradicting thoughts and feelings.

“Oh there’s hours yet. Sport thing,” Bellamy informed them, “Soccer team.”

“Oh, that’s darling,” Anya replied sardonically, her smirk never faltering, “Lexa, isn’t that  _ darling _ ?”

“Good, well I hope you win,” Lexa offered with a smile, ignoring her friend. Who might not be her friend, considering how close they stood. Clarke wondered— 

“Anya, are you gay?” Bellamy asked frankly.

“Oh, God,” Clarke murmured as she dropped Bellamy’s arm. She loved her husband, she really did, but she was not prepared to die for him in that moment.

“Am I  _ gay _ ?” she asked with a raised brow and a dry, humored tone, “I’m ecstatic.”

“And are you two…?” Bellamy continued, ignoring Clarke’s growing distance from him, Lexa’s mortified expression, and Anya’s face, which looked somewhere between shock and laughter. 

“No,” Lexa replied immediately, waving off the idea, “No, we’re not.”

Clarke felt her heart inexplicably lighten— 

“I’ve tried and tried,” Anya replied with a smirk directed at Clarke as she threw an arm around Lexa’s shoulder, “but she loves another.”

— and fall again.

She and Bellamy both let out small laughs. 

“So, I… I’ll call you,” Lexa said, trying to distance herself from her friend, who only seemed to grip her shoulder harder.

“Do, ‘cause we should definitely…” Bellamy replied.

“Definitely,” Clarke finished.

“We will,” Lexa confirmed.

“We’re going that way,” Clarke said, pointing forward.

“Yep. Bye again,” Lexa rushed out, pulling her friend with her as she made her hasty escape.

“Bye…” Clarke trailed off as her eyes followed the brunette. 

There were so many words to say, so many emotions to process, and she simply didn’t have the capacity to delve into them at that moment. So she continued walking in silence instead until they reached a dairy stand.

Bellamy leaned over her shoulder conspiratorially, “So, I found out they are  _ not  _ at item.”

“Yeah, very tactful,” Clarke replied sarcastically as she pushed her feelings away and grabbed a log of goat cheese, “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

“He didn’t.”

“He did. I shit you not, he asked her casually, like he was asking if she was a sports fan or something,” Clarke assured, before deepening her voice to its most Bellamy-like tenor, “‘Anya, are you gay?’”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Raven exclaimed with a laugh before turning towards the door that led to the outer part of their box, “Bellamy, I can’t believe you!”

They were in their box at Audi Field, watching DC United play against South Carolina’s Columbus Crew, their only real competition in the league at this point. They got the box through their company at Octavia’s insistence that it was good to show potential investors that they were invested in local sports, but it quickly became an easy way for all of their friends to spend time doing something they enjoyed. 

Clarke, personally, preferred to be closer to the action, a shout away from the field rather than up in a box.

“What did my big brother do now?”

Octavia strode in with Lincoln in tow. They were, by all appearances, an odd match: Lincoln was tall and dark and took a somewhat laid back approach to life, whereas Octavia was petite and bright, her approach to life about as subtle as a Shangela coming back on _ Ru Paul’s Drag Race _ . But they balanced each other out almost naturally, meeting situations from different sides before coming to an even better conclusion and Clarke couldn’t be happier for her friend.

“Bellamy blatantly asked someone if they were gay,” Raven supplied with an eye roll as the first quarter ended and Bellamy made his way over to them, leaving the rest of the group outside.

“It was a valid question,” he defended, giving Octavia a quick hug and Lincoln a strong handshake; they were warming to one another slowly—  _ very _ slowly— but the soccer games were definitely a good bonding tactic, “Clarke here was playing matchmaker and I figured if Lexa was off the market, she’d stop altogether.”

“More like you’re a nosy piece of shit,” Clarke replied, “Knowing she wasn’t interested in men would have been sufficient.”

“Wait,” Lincoln interjected, humor coloring his tone, “You tried to set  _ Lexa  _ up with a guy?”

“Not just a guy. With  _ Finn, _ ” Raven emphasized with a smirk.

Clarke ducked her head to hide a growing blush as Lincoln let out a laugh, a bellowing laugh that she’d never heard from the normally docile man, and it took her a moment to remember that they knew each other.

“Wait, then who did you ask if they were gay?” Lincoln asked Bellamy, though judging by his barely contained smile, he already knew the answer.

“The, uh… the woman she was with. Anya,” Bellamy answered, finally having the decency to look mildy abashed.

Lincoln’s laugh grew and this time Octavia joined him; their eyes narrowed into slits as they practically fell on top of one another.

“And you’re still standing?” Octavia asked as her eyes teared up.

“Wait, you know Anya?” Clarke interjected.

Octavia wiped a laugh-induced tear from her eye, “Yeah, she came by the boxing gym a few days ago. She’s um… intense.”

“She loosens up once you get to know her,” Lincoln assured. 

“And… this is the girl you wanted to set me up with?” Raven questioned, shooting an accusatory look at Lincoln.

Lincoln threw his hands up defensively. “Hey, I’m not saying you two should get married. I just thought you’d get along…” 

He trailed off in response to Raven’s cocked brow before offering, “She likes motorcycles?”

Raven seemed unimpressed as she crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “Just because you know more than one gay woman, it doesn’t mean they would work well together. It’s like meeting a black person and bringing up your one black friend, it’s kinda wrong.”

“Hey, that’s not fair, Raven,” Octavia defended, “He’s right, you two would get along. Besides she’s  _ hot _ .”

Raven’s arms were still crossed, a look of disbelief still coloring her face, so Octavia huffed and rolled her eyes before pulling Lincoln’s phone from his pocket. She took a moment to fiddle with it before turning it towards Raven and Clarke. 

It was a picture of Anya, Lexa and Lincoln standing in the desert with a few others, including Indra, all dressed in beige camo with a soccer ball propped under Lexa’s foot. They had shit-eating grins on their faces even though they were covered in sweat and grime and a small camp of tents could be seen behind them. Lexa stood in the middle and she seemed more in her element there than Clarke had ever seen her.

Clarke felt warmth in the pit of her stomach, something fond and familiar, even as her brain tried to process even more information about the brunette enigma; she knew Lincoln had served before his time in the FBI but she never realized that the SEALs would be how the three of them were connected.

“Well, shit she  _ is  _ hot,” Raven said enthusiastically, uncrossing her arms to snap the phone out of Octavia’s hands and manipulating the picture to zoom in on Anya’s face, “Lincoln, you are  _ completely  _ forgiven.”

“Raven,” Octavia addressed with a cocked brow and an outreaching hand before suggesting, “Hey, why don’t we invite her and Lexa to the party next weekend?” 

For the past two years, their company sponsored a floor at the Defiance party at City Winery; it was complete with a line-up of DJs and performers, multiple floors, a rooftop bar, and great food. Their company was responsible for the rooftop bar which had a MirMir photo booth, a signature cocktail and Betty Who, who was performing that year. 

“No,” Clarke responded automatically. All heads turned her way in confusion so she continued, “I mean, we don’t really know them all that well. Wouldn’t it be weird?”

“Just yesterday, you were convinced Lexa was your soulmate bestie, or whatever,” Bellamy chipped in.

“I didn’t say—” Clarke started with a side-eye towards her husband before realizing it was fruitless. Once Octavia and Raven got an idea to do something, only the will of God could stop them (and even that was a stretch). “Fine, we can invite them.”

“Good, because momma needs to get laid,” Raven said with a smug smirk.

“What happened to that Wick guy?” Octavia asked.

“Old news,” she shrugged.

“Perfect, I’ll text them with an invite,” Lincoln said, already unlocking his phone.

Clarke put on her most convincing smile, “Great.”

_ It would be great,  _ she thought.  _ Just, great. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long! Life gets a little crazy, y'know? And I AM working on The Imposters if you follow it, I've just been in a bit of a writing slump with it. 
> 
> Love you all lots! 
> 
> (Oh and a reminder that there is a Pinterest board I have dedicated to this story if you need visuals! Link is in the first chapter)


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